


Assassin's Tango

by Mushmoom



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Action & Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dead squirrels, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff, I've had to type this like three times, Internal Conflict, NSFW, Pls help her, Slow Burn, The HoK just wants a nap: the fanfiction, bosmer HoK doesn't follow Bosmer culture, i don't think I can write their deaths guys, main quest, smut in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mushmoom/pseuds/Mushmoom
Summary: When a brotherhood assassin gets sent to jail, guilty and ready for execution, things aren't looking too hot for her. Not 48 hours later, the emperor is assassinated and the entire country is in turmoil. Can she close shut the jaws of Oblivion and save Tamriel, all while protecting her Sanctuary from a an unknown traitor?





	1. Bitter Beginnings

The Sanctuary was intimidatingly quiet, the only connection to life outside was the constant pattering of rain against the well accompanied lighting. Denae’s body was made of wood in the storm, her eyes heavy and her body unwilling to correspond.

Each crack of thunder brought a new plaguing thought to her mind.

“ _You chose a bad day to take_ _up with the cause of the Septims…_ ”

The assassins haunting words echoed in her mind like an echo in a canyon. What did the assassin’s words mean? Jaws of oblivion? All these thoughts frustrated Denae…

Her gloved hands absentmindedly traveled to the scarlet diamond shaped amulet in her bag. The jewel felt starkly colder than the Sanctuary's iconic atmosphere, it's icy lifeless form served as a friendly reminder of the emperors death a few days prior.

Immediately after his death, Denae fled to the cheydinhal sanctuary, not even giving the weynon priory a second thought. The haunting but homey dungeon was the most comfort she could've received after the persistent guilt of the emperors demise. Contracts remained untouched in her confusion and grief. 

 _Don't be squishy_ , her thoughts would prod. But squishy she was. 

“Welcome back, sister! You are like a gift from the night mother herself.”

The Bosmer jolted and as if it were sentient, the amulet of kings slipped into her pack. Denae turned to where Vicente Valtieri stood. The vampire lifted his brow at her sudden jumpy behavior, and denae felt his questioning eyes bore into her. Letting go of her negativity, she sat upright and smiled to her favorite dark brother, who had taken a seat at the chair parallel to hers.

“Well look who it is! Vicente, your a lovely sight as per usual.”

“You flatter me, sister. I shan’t lie, Vampirism certainly has kept my charm fresh,” he procured a remarkably toothy smile, one that would make the greener recruits collapse.

"Where is everyone? I thought they'd be back by now…” she mused aloud to Vicente. The vampire tapped his chin. “Telaendril is out scouting, Mraaj-dar is on a special contract from Lucien, Antoinette at the inn’s bar , and the Argonian twins are out hunting, or so they told me. Sithis knows where Gogron’s at- presumably a tavern drinking his brain cells away.”

Vicente picked up Schemer, the sanctuary pet, and began to massage the rat’s belly. Schemer squeaked in earnest to vicente, rewarding Vicente with chortles whenever he scratched the sweet spots.

The Bosmer grinned at Vicente and his recently friend but quickly furrowed her brow upon a new resilient thought. The ancient wood of his chair squeaked as he leaned back

  “Is there a reason for such a look? Should it not be a time for celebration for your recent promotion? It's not everyday a member of our sanctuary becomes an eliminator rank.”

“If I celebrate too much I might just end up like Gogron,” she snickered. “Something came up I suppose. It really is urgent and I should've been on the road by now..” looking back, coming to the sanctuary was a stupid choice.

Vicente smiled and studied her closely, as if she were hiding something. She lifted her brow cheekily in return.

“Speaking of that urgent thing, I'll be out for the next few days. Do you have any contracts I could take along the way? I've stalled too long on receiving one.” He nodded curtly and gave a roll of paper assigning her contract.

“Unfortunately your absence is exactly when Speaker Lachance plans on visiting the sanctuary, so I'll have to tell him exactly why you aren't here to report,” Vicente leaned in, his eyes boring into hers “A bit of advice in advance, do not miss the next time he visits. On occasion he allows raw members to slide but there are no second chances with Lachance, you may have heard.”

“Of course, Vicente,” she fidgeted with her long strands of hair and swallowed the thick lump in her throat. “This is rather a rare occurance…”

 _Well it's not everyday an emperor gets killed,_ denae added _._

She abruptly stood and hastily tied her sandy hair into a bun. The vampire leaned forward into his seat across from her, his seemingly inquisitive look consuming her. “Might I ask what exactly is keeping you from our beloved family?”

  
"Lets just say an entire bloodline is in my hands…”

———

A few days later, Denae and her feet were cursing the entire existence of the damn Septims. Upon meeting the monk, he immediately set her off to Kvatch to find the emperors bastard son, Martin. Even though the monk was rather condescending and skeptical toward her story about how and why she gained possession of the amulet, he sent her after the secret heir. Humans are weird.

She walked from Chorrol to Kvatch in three days, growing more insane and irritated each day. Purchasing a horse would've been a better idea, now that she thought of it.

As she grew closer and closer to Kvatch, she knew something was terribly wrong, the twisting and turning in her gut refused to go away. This isn't normal. Your going to get yourself killed

She trekked up the winding roads that led to the entrance of Kvatch. A refugee camp of people people greeted her depressingly, their faces filled with soot and their eyes weary. The children of the camp looked up at her solemnly as she passed, giving the Bosmer an uneasy feeling.

Suddenly, the sky grew from its midnight blue to sickly crimson in a span of seconds.

There Kvatch stood, in all its destroyed hellish glory.

———

"Brother Martin?”

Martin jerked awake from his spot on the pews and quickly unsheathed his dagger.

“Martin! It's me! Oleta?” The old woman hesitatingly placed a hand on his shoulder, immediately snapping Martin out of it. He blinked twice before taking a deep, disappointed breath.

"My apologies Oleta. These nightmares are getting worse each day,” Martin rubbed a calloused hand across his face. He didn't mean to startle Oleta, but it still felt terrible to feel helpless. He sat up from the stiff wood of the chapel. It was his turn to sleep-giving him some time to catch up on sleep- while the other priests and priestesses tended to the wounded. Well the ones that stayed in kvatch, the imperial remarked dully.

 

But at the moment he noticed a familiar kvatch guard smiling and speaking to the other guards of- success?

"It's quite alright, brother,” oleta’s wrinkled mouth quickly changed into a smile. “But nevermind that! The guards just sent word the gate has been closed! We're safe!”

He looked at the woman dumbfounded. The gates closed? The entire city had been destroyed in the 3 days since it reared its ugly head. The daedra killed more and more innocent civilians each day that passed. He was certain he would die in that chapel.

But who could've done such a thing?

Suddenly the chapel doors slammed open, revealing an army of kvatch guards marching in, like wooden soldiers on a clock. But one figure wasn't like the rest of the stocky men. The hooded figure was certainly not a regular civilian telling by the body shape. They were a toned female, neither lanky or muscular. With nimble fingers resting on her hip quiver, she scammed the room until her frenzied eyes settled on Martin himself.

She began to fast walk toward him.

Before he could utter out a single “fuck”, she grabbed his hand and gently tugged him.

“Are you Brother Martin?”

She asked softly, like a friend would to another friend. It seemed like she was trying not to scare him.

He gave a small nod and at an instant the short woman was pulling him toward to the exit. “Wha- what in oblivion are you doing?”

“We need to go. You are in terrible danger Martin,” she said shortly. “I've been tasked by Jauffre to assist you out of Kvatch.”

Martin quickly pulled his hand away from hers, earning him a glare from the hooded woman. She balled her fists, clearly frustrated with the imperial.

"That's _ridiculous_! Of course I'm in danger, the whole damned city is! I cannot leave all these people. They need a healer.” His protests were futile as she gripped his wrist harder with much more strength than he expected someone of her size to have. Must be the archery.

“You think I don't know that, Martin? We must leave before they come.” Now she was actually dragging him along. He quickly stepped back to evade her questionable strength.

“More people will be in danger if you stay put,” she added with tension in her voice. “This whole city is safe now, the gate is closed and the daedra are dead.”

“I'm not going anywhere with some stranger who states the obvious! What do you want with me? Do you need a priest? Unless your hurt, I will not speak to you further.” He buffed and abruptly began to walk away before her hands gripped his shoulders and turned him to her.

She quickly pulled her hood off, revealing an olive skinned bosmer with tangled sandy hair pulled back into a collapsing bun (save for the amount of hair stuck to her sweat covered face). In the dim light of the chapel, he could see her furious eyes were a stark green against the soot plastered across her face like brush strokes.

“This answers your question of who I am. This entire fucking city is burned up because they want _you_. You are the late emperors long lost son, and you will come with me or Sith- _Mara_ help me I will carry this entire chapel to weynon priory myself!”

She huffed one last time and looked at the priest. His eyes were wide open and his fingers trembled like a child. _Oh no_...

Quickly regretting her outburst, the Bosmer's eyes shifted to the side and she offered her hand, delicate like her first attempt.

So this was the esteemed Hero of Kvatch…

 


	2. The Endless Road to No Where

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nostalgia and Fear dominates the walk from Kvatch the Weynon Priory. A visitor comes to the sanctuary and determines Denae's future in the Brotherhood. Also a cute squirrel dies.

  
 The smell of smoke and rotting corpse slowly drifted away as Denae and Martin traveled through the soft fog. _The trees are mourning,_ the woman grimly lamented. Dark greens and turquoises filled her eyes while she drifted off mentally.

 Accompanying the solemn birds, their awkward silence filled the space between the two. Martin took a false interest at his surroundings, mentally naming each berry and flower he saw. Denae’s eyes were alert, busy in her surroundings and only one thing on her mind: protect Martin.

  _If Antoinetta were here she wouldn't hear the end of it_ , she thought.

 It just wasn't that. Sure once the anxious fade was gone she'd flirt with the man a little, but she'd just met him. Antoinetta never seemed to get that…

_Antoinetta was obviously intoxicated. Normally they'd drink in the comforts of the sanctuary but tonight was special, being that Antoinetta proposed for a girls night out. Ocheeva was out and the only other one who made it was Telaendril, who didn't even like dancing._

_Her hips were swaying back and forth like a hypnotizing pendulum. Obviously there were men ogling at her ass as she danced across the tavern. A swirling carefree Antoinetta grabbed Denae from her casual conversation with Telaendril about the best wood for bows._

_“Look at those men, Nae! What if…they're in love with us!” She giggled. Denae turned to the onlooking crowd, which consisted of a rather good looking nord and a shady Breton._

_Denae looked at her, one eyebrow raised. She pat Antoinetta’s head . “Don't get too attached, Netta. I'm pretty sure the Breton is going to have a contract placed on him soon.”_

_“Then I'll kill him after we get acquainted,” Antoinetta wriggled her brows playfully before leaning on her shoulders. The weight of her body on Denae caused the Bosmer to knock into a imperial man a little taller than her._

_“Damnit Antoinetta.” She could only see his jaw as he had on a olive cloak, but he was fairly built, which wasn't too bad to see from her view. His biceps weren't an eyesore either… But before she could apologize he was out the door._

_Antoinetta’s jaw dropped. “Were you…staring?”_

_Her face immediately turned red and she huffed. “There's nothing wrong with admiring, Antoinetta. Let's get you back to the Sanctuary before you do anything else_.”

Just the thought of the bubbly blonde made the Bosmer homesick. The orange fire scones dancing across the room…the questionable drops of blood on everything…her bed. Oh how she loved her bed.

Those were the moments she missed the most. Back before everything went to utter shit. Back before she even knew a traitor in their ranks was slowly picking off her family.

A fat glistening tear slid down her cheek.

Martin turned from his sudden interest in the scenery around him and noticed the Bosmer nearly in tears. “Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, I'm alright. Distraction got the best of me. I promise it won't happen again.” She went back into protect mode, stalwart as ever.

Their silence was back again. Martin quickly swallowed the thick lump forming and cleared his throat.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot in Kvatch,” he started. “I’d like to get to know you more. You did save Kvatch after all. One should know their hero…”

Denae looked up from her homesick state. Her eyes were wide, and questioning. She abruptly looked back to the road. “What do you want to know?”

Martin paused. He didn't think he'd get this far. “I suppose your name would be a nice start.”

The Bosmer giggled at his oblivious look. “Well if you must know, my name is Allora.” They kept walking along, Denae smug that her identity would be secure. This was only a one time thing. It wasn't like they'd be together for too long.

“I want your real name, not an alias.”

Her smug look quickly faded. How had he…“Fine you caught me. It's Denae.” She picked up a stray leaf and began to tear little bits of it off.

“You’re not that hard to read,” Martin teased. _Sure you keep thinking that, priest man._

“Denae…why would you hide such a name. It's rather nice,” Martin said. He'd hoped to make her feel less tense, not make her silent for another good minute.

“I'm sorry I did-“

“We're not alone…”

Before Martin could say another word, her ears caught sound of a bow being unsheathed. Her gloved hands pushed his chest back gently.

There.

The outline of the late Emperor’s assassin was hidden in the trees, aiming a nasty arrow directly to Martin. _Not again!_

She quickly unsheathed her bow and fired an arrow at the trespasser. The branches rustled before a sickening thump hit the forest floor.

The assassin slowly creeped toward the place where the assailant fell, her bow drawn and the imperial close behind her. The figure in the familiar but peculiar assassin armor desperately attempted to remove the arrow stuck in his solar plexus.

Denae could tell he was slowly fading as his movements became slow and desperate as more blood pooled around him. Eventually the red-cloaked agent stopped moving.

“Is, is that-“

“Look if you want to get out of here…”

“If it's alright with you, I'd like to stay.”

The Bosmer nodded and exited to trees, leaving Martin alone but closely guarded. Martin walked slowly toward the agent’s lifeless body.

This was the assassin. He probably had a part in his fathers death. He had a part in his home being burned to the last building. He killed numerous children…They were trying to kill him.

But what for? Why did they want him and his entire bloodline dead? Was the Emper— my father — a cruel man?

_Will I be the same?_

Martin’s body shook and he let out an incomprehensible sound, alerting Denae. “Martin are you alright,” her eyes settled on the imperial, a wreck and attempting to … burn the assassins body with a flame spell? She quickly grabbed his shoulders and turned the man around. He was angry, his body shaking profusely and his mind clearly a wreck.

“I don't know if I — I can't,” he said, his breathing ragged.

“You must. Come on, let's set up camp.”

  
———

  
“Welcome home, Speaker! The Sanctuary is most pleasured at your appearance.”

Lucien Lachance slid down the ladder of the well entrance, landing silently and smoothly. The familiar Argonian woman Ocheeva bowed at the speaker and wordlessly offered to take his cloak. “Do come in speaker. I think you’ll find the feast we prepared most accommodating.”

Ocheeva hung the Speaker’s cloak along with the rest of the Sanctuary’s cloaks and turned to the Speaker, who was inspecting the surroundings of the Sanctuary. It was extremely neat, everything had a place. The dark guardian was painfully slowly sweeping a small dust pile into his pan. Most of the Sanctuary members seemed to be present as well.

“I'm impressed. The Sanctuary seems to be in well order, Ocheeva. Expect a bonus this month,”

Ocheeva beamed, showing the same rows of pointy teeth that used to nibble at his shoes. Her arms flew open, enthusiastically motioning for a warm hug, to which the speaker complied. Though he was a speaker, Ocheeva was similar to his own daughter, and Teinaava a son. Though it was his duty as a member of the Dark Brotherhood to raise and train the Shadowscale twins, he often found himself treating them as kin.

Ocheeva let go of his embrace and slipped her arm around his back, where she led him to the table of food, where the rest of the members were conversing.

“Welcome back, brother! It seems the Night Mother has blessed us once again,” Vicente remarked from across the tables. Lucien took the opportunity to hand the vampire a bundle of contracts, which the vampire took cheerfully.

“it's a pleasure, Vicente,” he replied politely. Lucien sat in the too-ancient-for-comfort chair beside Vicente. The vampire brought a cup of what he assumed to be blood up to his lips.

“Everyone's here except…”

“Vicente, where is Telaendril and Denae?” Vicente lowered his cup at the slightest bit, weighing his choice of words.

“Telaendril is scouting for suspicious activity, Ocheeva’s orders. Denae is on ‘urgent’ business, she said.” Lucien leaned back into his chair.

“Contract?”

“No. She was rather brief about what it was. She took the contract Ocheeva requested for her to take…a skooma addict named Faelian.” Vicente contently ate a spoon of his traditional Blackmarsh Salmon stew. One of the twins was obviously on cooking duty. The vampire looked to his dear friend, who was silently brooding in his chair.

“If I remember specifically, I requested all the Sanctuary to be present. The Black hand demands that they are here. Black hand’s orders, Vicente,” the Assassin said, his voice tight. Vicente, undeterred by the Speakers tone, smiled at him. “They will be back soon. Do no sulk, Speaker… Something else on your mind, Lucien?” The speaker’s tongue pushed the corner of his cheek at the vampire’s venturing and he tapped his chin.

“I'll need you to tell Ocheeva to fast track our newest sister, Denae. Give her as many contracts as possible. It's urgent she complete them,” Lucien said, stirring his stew. “You were once a Speaker. I think you’ll catch my drift.”

“You’re making her a —I don't have doubts in your choices but I'd expect you to choose someone else, like…”

“Like who?”

Vicente immediately pointed to Antoinetta, who was attempting to balance a poisoned apple on her nose while the rest of the Sanctuary cheered on.

Lucien’s mouth twitched at the corners. “I'm sure you can see why.” The vampire took another sip of his blood filled goblet.

Across the dinner table, the apple fell with a thunk and the entire Sanctuary burst into cheers, praising the probably drunk Breton.

Vicente covered his face and sighed into his hands. “I suppose your right about her, Lucien. Again”

 

———

Sundown approached rapidly as Denae and Martin set up camp just a half a day’s worth away from Weynon Priory. While Martin bathed in a lake nearby, Denae sat, legs crossed on the leaf littered floor, attempting to start a fire. _Just light for sithis’s sake, you damned wood._ The twig spun faster and faster until it snapped in half. The wood elf huffed heavily and laid on the hard forest floor.

“Is there something wrong?” She looked to the side where Martin was. The only thing she could see in her position was his chest while he struggled with putting on his robes. The elf quickly closed her inappropriately open mouth before he properly positioned his clothes.

“I can't start this damned fire,” she returned to her previous sulky attitude. Without another word, the priest crouched near the fire and produced a small flame spell, enough to light the fire and illuminate the now twilight forest.

Martin smirked cheekily and sat across from the hero, who was still in disbelief. She shook her head and leaned in to the warmth while Martin stared into the dancing flames. After a short while, Denae spoke.

“Martin?” The Imperial looked up from his trance and at the Bosmer.

“Yes?”

“Are you a vegetarian?” Martin looked at the elf, who was counting the arrows in her quiver, clearly confused by her weird question.

"I was going to catch dinner for us. I'm sure after everything you've been through, you’re hungrier than a troll,” her statement made Martin realize just how hungry he was. The imperial’s stomach felt like a void, empty and endless.

He hadn't thought of his personally needs since before Kvatch. “You could come hunting with me. You'd be safer with me than sitting here, alone and vulnerable.”

Martin nodded and stood up along with the elf, who was tying her currently loose wavy hair back into a ponytail. “It's quite late, but I'm certain we can still get a kill,” Denae took martins wrist and led him into the dimly lit forest.

They left the glowing campsite and pushed through the brush and lush leaves. While Martin’s steps were hard and crunching the twigs on the floor, Denae’s were silent and careful, careful not to draw attention to any of the forests wildlife.

Martin’s eyes wandered to her bow, which was made from a dark colored wood than most standard bows and had small elegant designs of a hand print surrounded by swirls. An unsettling aura of magicka misted the bow in a red overcoat.

“Forgive me for asking, but from my research Bosmer don't use wood in their weapons, but you choose to. Why is that?” The priest asked inquisitively.

The mystical energy clearly captured Martin’s attention and she slowly moved it out of his general direction. Hopefully the bows magicka doesn't kill him before the assassins do.

“Shado— this was a promotion reward. I don't mind using wood. Bone bows probably shatter,” she whispered, slowly drawing her bow. “My parents never really introduced me to Bosmer beliefs at a young age. I was born here, actually.”

“It's times like this where I wish I was a khajiit. I heard they have night vision? They're quite interesting people,” she quickly changed the subject

“I have a uh— friend, who's a khajiit. He often refers to people as ‘foul smelling apes’… friendly fellow.” The Bosmer stopped in her tracks and pointed to a fat squirrel in a tree, who was unsuspecting of the two down below.

The sound of Denae steadying her bow caused the creature to turn it’s chunky head around and stare at her directly in her eyes, big black eyes trained on her focused ones. Before the squirrel could make it's escape, an arrow lodged itself through the squirrels torso.

The squirrel hit the ground and Martin quickly grabbed it before the bugs could start gnawing its carcass.

“Let's get back, I'm hungry as shit”

———————-

  
An hour later, Martin and Denae were stuffed with roasted squirrel bits in their stomachs and heavy eyes.

“If we awake at sunrise, we should arrive at Weynon Priory at around say noon. Jauffre will be ecstatic,” Denae said. She could just imagine the monk inspecting Martin for any scratches, scolding her all the while. “Then we can get this whole damn shebang over with…”

She settled her eyes and lay still for a moment, taking in the darkness and peace. The soft ambience of the forest’s life soothed her soul in a way only home could. _Why must peace be a luxury, she lamented._

It had been some time since she'd slept in the forests; months, a year? The idea brought nostalgic for the days of childhood and fun, playing with other kids in the trees and breaking arms all the while.

Denae figured there had been at least all four limbs broke while climbing, sometimes the same exact limb twice. For being a wood elf, she certainly didn't gracefully scale the trees like her ancestors.

“What will you do when this— the crisis, is all over, Denae?” She opened an eye to see Martin watching her with a hopeful look. The priest was tiredly laying on Denae’s sleeping mat (there was only one and she couldn't let the emperor of all of Tamriel sleep on a dirt floor. Jauffre would flay her alive.) He was near sleep as was she.

“What I did before I suppose. I have a family—of sorts— to protect and serve. I am bound to them eternally…” she bit her tongue and mentally stopped herself from saying anything else about her underground home.

Their safety is more important than his curiosity

“I can't ask you the same question. We both know what will happen to you after all of this.” Denae could feel the displeasure rolling off the priest. She leaned against a tree behind her and observed him. Anyone would grab at the opportunity to take the throne, but it seemed this man wanted none of it.

“You crave a simpler life? What about the extravagant feasts and the hundreds of women at your arm? Isn't it absolute paradise?”

Martin scoffed and nestled into his cot more. “I'm a priest. I uphold celibacy and humbleness as a follower of Akatosh. The feast would probably be poisoned.”

Denae laughed in the truth of his last statement and grinned. “The food is almost always poisoned. Don't trust the apples, they're dangerous. Remind me on teaching you safety from assassins.” The wood elf swallowed a lump at the irony.

The elf looked over to Martin, sound asleep on her cot. She sighed and clutched her chest before turning in for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of my dumb fanfic. I procrastinate too much, but to make up I wrote a long chapter. Thank you guys so much for reading it. It means the world <3
> 
> Also, dm me on Instagram for Oblivion memes @mush_moom


	3. Don't Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is finally safe in Cloud Ruler Temple. Denae? Not so much.

  
“Look, Weynon Priory! Finally ,” Denae breathed a sigh of relief and brought her cloak tighter across her body to shield herself from the chilly morning air. Last night's rest certainly didn't benefit her at all. Her body ached terribly, and her back kept bugging her nonstop to find a place to rest. The assassin planned to only be at the Priory for a night and head to the Sanctuary, and hopefully catch the Speaker in time for his visit.

A dunmer, the sneering stable hand from before, sprinted across the road and to the two, bumping hard into Martin and causing him to stagger back.

Before she could draw her bow, the Dunmer frantically gripped the Wood Elf’s shoulders. “You must help, Bosmer! They're slaughtering everyone in the Priory! Everyone's dead! Oh Gods—“

“Death to the Septims!” A group of red cloaked agents ran toward them with a menacing looking array of weapons. Without another word, the dunmer continued sprinting and disappeared into the woods.

Denae stepped in front of the priest quickly. “Stay behind, Martin. Can you defend yourself?” A pair of agents in the distant cried a bloodcurdling war cry and lunged for the two. She quickly shoved Martin to the side and jumped away from their attack, giving her time to shoot one assailant in the torso and the other in the chest. Their dying screams blended with the incoming shrieks of the other agents.

“Somewhat,” with frightening speed a smaller, quicker female assassin descended upon them, aiming for Martin specifically. Denae grabbed the woman's cowl back, effectively jerking her head back enough for Her to be thrown to the floor.

As Denae fought her agent, one headed directly for Martin. He quickly grabbed the sword of a dead agent and slashed at the Man, who parried Martin’s attack with frightening speed. Martin kicked the agent, who stumbled back, giving Martin enough time to drive his sword into the side of his rib cage. The agent fell dead immediately onto the road , not even twitching once.

Meanwhile, Denae struggled with the one female assailment, in which she was in top of. She smashed her fists desperately into her face, tugging the mask off to reveal a tatter faced Bosmer woman, oddly familiar to her.

A moment of surprise caught the elf off guard, allowing the red assassin to roll Denae over where she sat straddled on the wood elf’s torso, her gloved hands wrapped around her neck. Denae desperately gripped the woman's fingers attempting to pull them off her neck and grasp air.

The woman looked down to Denae with her eyes wide and disturbed, a full indication of the mental state of the assassins. For the first time since Lucien Lachance’s first visit, she was terrified.

“Join Mankar Camoran’s Paradise, kinswoman. Receive eternal life. ”

“S’wit,” Denae choked out. Before the woman could respond, Martin came from behind and swung his sword around her neck, slicing her head off clean. The woman’s body fell to the ground next to her.

Denae gasped and rested her head back. She breathed heavily on the hard cobblestone for half a minute, coming back to her senses slowly.

 The elf sat up, to see Martin gripping his sword tightly and wildly looking over the ground of defeated assassins.

She quickly stood up and locked herself onto Martin's arm. "I owe you my life, Martin Septim. Don't forget it,” his heavy erratic breathing subsided and he relaxed.

She pulled away from the embrace and looked the priest up and down, pointing to his sword. “I didn't know priests learn how to sword fight. Your quite good at it,” she said, clearly impressed.

Martin shrugged and he looked at the bloodstained sword. “I don't know what came over myself. I just…did it, I suppose?”

She nodded. “It's called instinct Martin," they begun walking."Use it well, because your gut and your instincts are your best friends at this point. Trusting anyone else will bring death…come follow me.”

The wood elf led Martin further down the road to the Priory and opened the door, to reveal several dead bodies on the floor.

The sound of swords clashing came to an abrupt stop and a hard thunk against the wood could be heard, revealing Jauffre as the victor in the duel. He spotted Denae from the second floor’s balcony.

“The Amulet! It is gone. The enemy has defeated us at every turn! They took the amulet and all of the supplies; weapons, armor, food. Now we have nothing, absolutely nothing.”

Jauffre hurriedly descended the steps and saw Martin awkwardly standing behind the smaller bosmer in front of him.

“Is Martin, our heir, nothing to you? Not all hope is lost,” she stepped aside and presented the nervous man to the monk.

Jauffre let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the future emperor. “It is good you’re safe, Martin. You will be taken to safety soon enough. Cloud Ruler Temple, an hour’s walk from Bruma, is fortified with my best men. Not including our friend here,” both Jauffre and Martin looked to Denae, who looked to the Monk with a questioning glare.

“You never sai-“ the sound of a sword being unsheathed interrupted her and the monk held up his sword to her neck.

Her arms flew to the level of her eyes, her glare becoming harder than steel.

“What is the meaning of such behavior!” Martin bellowed to Jauffre, who was slowly closing in on Denae.

“She knows too much. This is for your safety, Martin.” She slowly backed away from him and quickly procured a small dagger from her hidden pocket.

“After everything I did for the Empire, you’re going to kill me? With all due respect, your logic is extremely flawed,” she bit out.

Martin moved into the monks line of sight, distracting him from her. “This woman, the Hero of Kvatch, single handedly closed an Oblivion gate and saved the entire city of Kvatch. She would be a powerful ally.”

Jauffre’s eyes widened, and his sword clattered to the floor. “An Oblivion gate? That can't be…” he furrowed his brows. “There's an even deeper great than I ever could've expected. Come, we must get to Cloud Ruler Temple as soon as possible.”

——————————-

The journey from Weynon Priory to Cloud Ruler Temple was long and harsh. With barely a threat around (which was surprising) the journey was boring and uneventful.

Bruma was colder than any other place she'd visited. On the top of a mountain, Cloud ruler Temple stood proud in the clouds, a well ode to its name. Except it was even colder than when they'd pass through the city.

The bosmer sat on her new paint horse (after long consideration, she decided to name her Sweetrolll, after her current craving), gift from Jauffre, in a bundle of her own fur cloak.

Denae had been to Bruma once, on a contract to kill Baenlin in the comfort of his own home. Returning to the winter wonderland hit her with a nostalgic wave of excitement, as she remembered how exciting and alien this new city was. _Maybe later I'll pass through_ , she thought to herself.

Earlier’s fight caused the group to be tense the entire trip. Martin rode behind Denae on Sweetroll, which caused the man to lift his brow at the two. Denae could sense the anxiety rolling off the priest behind her. She could imagine what he was thinking of; perhaps the burden of directing an entire province, or the unspeakable devastation of Kvatch.

Maybe both.

Sweetroll came to an abrupt stop, shaking the elf out of her thoughts. Gargantuan ornate doors greeted the three as they got off their doors. Before both Martin and Denae could take in the beauty, they slowly began to open to reveal a man running to greet Jauffre.

The Blade made strange movement with his hands, most likely an insignia, and bowed his head. Suddenly, his eyes turned to Martin and he straightened his posture. “Grandmaster, I assume this is…”

“Correct, Cyrus. Martin Septim, the last heir.”

Cyrus preformed the same insignia to Martin and bowed, which elicited a strange reaction from Martin. Martin didn't know what to do with someone bowing at him. It was just…unnatural.

“My Lord! The sight of an emperor is a fresh one. We have not had the Emperor in many many years. Some recruits have never even seen the Emperor.”

“Please, the honor is mine.”

Cyrus looked away and toward to the wood elf, who was unpacking from Sweetroll’s flank pocket. “And this?”

“Your new Blade sister, the Hero of Kvatch. I assume the Black Horse Courier hasn't made a stop here yet. She’s earned quite a name for herself, which is why she will join our ranks,” Jauffre said to Cyrus. He nodded and led the group up the stairs to a large group of blades who were watching curiously to see the new Emperor.

When Martin reached to the top, the entire crowd of blades formed into two neat and professional lines on either side of the pathway.

“Here is Martin Septim, true son of Tamriel!” They raised their swords to Martin, displaying their everlasting loyalty to the overwhelmed priest.

After Jauffre finished addressing the army of Blades, they all looked to Martin with expecting eyes. They wanted a speech. Martin swallowed a thick lump of fear.

“All of you,” Martin began. “I know you all expect me to be Emperor. I'll do my best. But this is all new to me. I will admit, i’m not used to giving speeches. But I wanted you to know that…that I appreciate your welcome here.”

Denae perked up from her place, leaning against a pillar to the side of Martin. She watched the priest grow more confidence as he spoke.

She could see the inner Emperor peeking through. His words moved her in a way that motivated her to serve Tamriel…and not for the province itself. She smiled proudly.

“I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days.”

The whole crowd of Blades cheered to his spirit and words, chanting “Hail Martin Septim!” After the energy of the blades dispersed, Jauffre shooed them off to continue their duties.

Shortly after, Martin approached Denae, who had just guided her new horse into the stables. She brushed Sweetroll’s hair until the steed’s mane shined.

“Not much of a speech, was it?”

She turned around at the sudden intrusion and shook her head. “Didn't seem to bother them. They were enamoured by you, Martin. Clearly they've put a grand amount of faith into you.”

“Really? I'm not sure if I can deliver—“ she stopped him and cupped his chin, directing his blue eyes to her green ones. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. What was this?

“You doubt yourself too easily. You’re very intelligent, Martin. You’ll do perfectly.”

Before he could respond, Jauffre knocked on the side of the stable entrance and cleared his throat. The grandmaster held folded clothes with an Akaviri Katana delicately posed on top, delicately enough to catch the subtle glint from the sun.

“Denae, it’s imperative I speak to you if your arrangements within the Blades. Alone.” Martin nodded settled a hand on her back.

“I'll leave you two be. Don't forget about me,” he walked out of the stables and into the temple. The Grandmaster had a look of authority and pride as he handed over the assorted goods. Her hands slid into the handle perfectly, as if it were meant to be, and the elf held the Katana upright.

There were small elegant inscriptions along the silver blade’s edge in some foreign language she couldn't comprehend.

In the other hand she was given simple clothes.

“To cover up that Brotherhood armor you wear so often,” her heart stopped. She wasn't even wearing the damn armor. How did he even know?

“Before you ask, there are Blade eyes and ears everywhere. I have sources, dear. But I'm not worried.” He leaned in closer. “You lay a hand on Martin — or any of my blades, all your friends are dead.”

The murmuring and soft commotion of the blades preforming their duties wasn't enough to block out Denae’s sudden panic. She swallows a thick lump in her throat.

“Are we clear, Blade sister?”

"Crystal.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short this time but hey it's something. The chapter title is inspired by the Coldplay song 'Don't Panic'. Thanks for reading!!!
> 
> Pls kudos and comment it boosts my dumb ego.

**Author's Note:**

> And the first chapter is down! Their interaction was brief but Denae and Martin's relationship will get better. Im actually writing the second chapter and hopefully I can get that up soon. Please comment and kudos because that motivates me to write more!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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